Happy as a Harlequin
by sheslaysdragons
Summary: She loves him, why doesn't he love her?  A collection of stories.
1. I put the PUNCH in PUNCHLINE

**A/N: **Hiya, Turtle here. All a sudden this plot idea slapped me in the face, and what else could I do but follow through with it? This focuses on a more self aware Harley Quinn, where she knows it's abuse but loves Joker anyway. Love it or hate it, leave a review.

Disclaimer: If I owned the DCverse, this wouldn't be a fanfiction.

She stumbles into the tiny bathroom, crying silent tears. She locks the door behind her, knowing it wouldn't do much good if he chose to follow her, it never does. That's alright this time, though, because he won't follow her. He's had his fix, as her bruise and battered face shows. He's done with her, for now.

She moves toward the medicine cabinet, opens it, and rummages through its contents. Where's the aspirin? Where's the freaking aspirin?

Finally she finds the bottle, in the very back of the cabinet. It's been a while since his last tantrum.

She takes off the cap and pours a few out into her hand. She picks two and puts the rest in the bottle. For moment she considers taking the rest of the bottle, but decides against it. She couldn't do that to Red, or any of the other friends she's made. Especially not to Mistah J.

She puts the bottle back and shuts the door.

Tentatively she turns around to face the mirror, making every second count before she has to see the harm he's caused.

When she sees her reflection an uncontrollable sob escapes her lips. It's no worse than last time, but now the pain is so much more livid than before. Her makeup is mostly rubbed off and what's left is so smeared you can't be sure what color is which. Her eyes are red and puffy and there's a large bruise on the left side of her face. Her costume - her lovely harlequin costume - is bloody on the shoulder where he slashed at her with the switchblade.

She can get out, and she knows it. Not in the conventional way, she could never leave if he was still alive and kickin'. No matter where she hid or who she hid behind he would find her, he would kill her. No, the only way she would ever get away was if he was dead. Red could kill him, she would have already if it wasn't for Harley. The Harlequin herself could end the clown's life, but she wouldn't want that. Despite everything, she still loved him dearly.

After rubbing the ruined makeup off her face, she crouches below the sink and grabs a new costume and her makeup kit. She leaves both items on the counter and slips out of her old costume. Gingerly she prods the wound on her arm and decides that it isn't too deep. She wipes away the blood and pours hydrogen peroxide on it.

She's never had a tetanus shot, and the switchblade was rusty. That doesn't concern her though, as long as her puddin' is happy.

She bandages her arm and puts the new costume on.

She glances back at the mirror and notices how puffy her eyes are. She can't stop that completely, but she can do the next best thing. She gets out a washcloth pours freezing cold water on it, and then presses it to her eyes. She stands there for a minute, then removes it and throws it in the corner of the room. The puffiness has faded, thankfully.

She reapplies the makeup as gently as possible, then puts the kit up.

She looks like his Harlequin again.

Harlequin. Harley Quinn. Harleen Quinzel. Heh-heh.

Suddenly she's laughing, and she doesn't know why. She's laughing and laughing, then she's crying. Not the kind where you cry real tears, though. The kind that simply shakes your whole body. She leans against the wall, then slides down to the the floor and curls into a ball.

She wants to leave him, but then she doesn't. He can be so sweet at times. He really loves her.

Doesn't he?


	2. Auditions and Audacity

_A/N: Well, hiya. Just a short little addition I got the urge to write up. I think, for the sake of sake, I'll take suggestions for new stories. My nanowrimo goal is to write 30,000 words on any story this month, and I'm only 12% in. Also, I really do love reviews. So much. Sooooooooooo much. -creeper pet-_

_Ahem, onward!_

Disclaimer: I...don't...own. Yeah, deal with that math!

Arkham Asylum was not the most pleasant of places, Harley decided, but that would all change once she was in charge. Until then, she would have to tough out the grey walls, even greyer floors, and surprisingly colorful bloodstains. She could do it, too. She was a little trooper.

_'Look at me, already planning for when I'm in charge at my first job interview!'_ Harley thought, giggling to herself. The few other people in the looked at her, most probably questioning why the women was at a place like Arkham Asylum in the first place, let a long_ laughing_. Admittedly, she probably did look a little bit out of place in her pink blouse and white skirt as compared to the monotonous colors of her surroundings.

Harley shifted in her seat for the thousandth time, ignoring the dirty look the secretary was giving her. It was all so exciting! She, Harleen Quinzel, was about to get a _job_ – the first of her and her brother. As far as Harley knew, Johnny was probably still sitting on the couch like he was when she last visited – three months ago.

"Quinzel, Harleen?" the secretary called.

"That's me!" Harley exclaimed, practically leaping out of her chair.

The secretary pointed to a door beside her desk. "Wait there."

Harley entered the small office. On the desk was a plaque reading 'Glenn'. Across from desk was a chair, and behind it was a bookcase.

On the desk was a file, a file with the name 'Joker' on it. Of course it said some other stuff too, but that was all Harley cared about. She knew who the Joker was; she knew what he had done. Instead of being repelled, it all fascinated her. It left her wondering what his motives were, it fascinated her.

Without realizing it, Harley had begun to reach for the folder. She would have grabbed it to, if it wasn't for that meddling secretary.

"What are you doing?" she asked, standing in the doorway.

Harley retracted her hand quickly. "Nothing!" she replied.

"Sit down; she'll be here in a moment."

Harley did just that, but her mind kept wandering to the folder on the desk.

Finally, a woman of mid-thirties entered the room and said "Hello, Ms. Quinzel. Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Not at all, Doc!"

"I'm Renee Glenn, it's a pleasure to meet you," the women said, extending her hand.

"Ditto," Harley shook the Doctor's hand. She sat down.

"Ms Quinzel-"

"You can call me Harley, everyone does."

"Very well, Harley, your credentials look good. Your college professor, Earnest Caldwell, sent a letter of recommendation on your behalf. He said that you and I quote 'show a great understanding of people and their needs'."

"Yes ma'm," Harley grinned.

"I have a few questions."

"Shoot."

"You seem like a very nice, cheerful young lady. Why would you want to work at a dark place like this?"

"Well, to be frank, these bad guys are pretty interesting. Whenever I see a crime on the ole' T.V. I think 'now why would this guy do this?' Well, now I can find out for ma'self."

"Fair enough. Any mental illness in your family?"

"Not that I know of!"

"Ok, good. Last question: I see that your original major was physical education, but you changed is to psychology your sophomore year. Why is that?"

"Oh," Harley blushed, "It was kind of silly. You see, there was this boy and…you can guess the rest, I'm sure. After I got into psychology, I loved it."

"This all looks good, but I'll have to get back to you. Expect a call within the next few weeks. Until then, have a nice day."

"You too, Doc," Harley said. She stood up and walked out.

0

The next few weeks went by extremely slow for Harley. They were spent in suspense because while Harley just _knew_ that she would get the job, her family wasn't as optimistic. One conversation with her mother went something like this:

"Hello Harley."

"Hi mom! You'll never guess what!"

"What?"

"Guess!"

"Just tell me, Harley."

"Ready?"

"Yes."

"Sure?"

"Tell me already!"

"I have a job!"

"Where?"

"Arkham Asylum."

"When do you start?"

"Oh, well, they haven't told me yet."

"You're waiting for the call, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but the lady said there's a real good chance I'll get it, though."

"They always say that."

"I know, but-"

"Alright, alright! I'm happy for you, but have to go. Love you, bye."

"Love ya' to, mom."

Harley _would _get this job.

She just knew it.


End file.
